


grass is greener when you grow it yourself

by VioletLopez



Series: only the good die young [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Marijuana, Modern AU, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, but not really, but thats okay, he's like 20, i wanted a story about les so i fucking wrote it, les is sad, les was a mess in high school but we love him, like...... he has a lot of baggage to work through first, lots of marijuana ngl, mentions of child abuse, mentions of fighting, ngl there are a lot of ocs but there had to be, not the cleanest language, underage (??) drinking, we like the delanceys in this one, yeah hes paired with people but its not really a huge focus of the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-08-27 09:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16699543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletLopez/pseuds/VioletLopez
Summary: "Les forced a laugh. He was good at that."-In which an announcement doesn't go as smoothly as it could have, and everyone learns a thing or two about consequences. Bohemian or barbarian? Revolution or ruination? Giving up or growing up? What does it really mean to expect the unexpected?-otherwise known as: les is the best (but not according to yale)





	1. chapter i

**Author's Note:**

> yeah yeah i shouldnt be starting another multichapter yada yada whatever i am anyway because im Dumb
> 
> ive been listening to too much billy joel and then i had an idea and like  
> ideas, man

It was Thanksgiving dinner, and the Jacobs’ house was flooded with conversation and laughter. Charlie was at the table, his crutch leaned up against the wall, his kind voice and laughter echoing as he watched Jack and Esther battle over the stove for the last few dishes of the meal. Davey was standing behind Charlie, his hands resting on his husband's shoulders as he chatted with Katherine, who was sitting in the opposite side of the table with Jack's sketchbook, which he'd allowed her to flip through. Caroline and Anna were in the living room, colouring together quietly. Mayer sat with Ollie as he read on the couch, keeping an eye on Ricky and Rosie as they chased each other around the room, shouting and causing a ruckus.

They almost didn't hear the knock at the door. In fact, they only heard it the third time it came, and Sarah came rushing out of the dining room where she'd been laying out the china and pulled open the door. On the other side was her littlest brother, with wind-reddened cheeks and his signature always-devious grin. He was wearing the worn, old-fashioned trench coat that none of them liked, with the patches on the elbows, and his usual skinny-jeans-and-sweater garb. “Why’d you have to wear the coat, Les?” She asked with a groan, pulling him in for a hug. He burst out laughing, the instantly recognizable sound that had everyone in the house perk up.

“It’s my favourite!” he protested, and Sarah shook her head in disapproval, herding him into the kitchen. Esther turned around and clucked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

“Lester Jacobs,” she scolded, folding him in her arms so hard he couldn’t breathe. “Couldn’t you have worn something nice just once for a family dinner?”

“Imagine the example you’re setting for the kids, Les,” Jack reprimanded, slapping his brother in law on the shoulder with a grin. “At this rate, they’ll all grow up to be starving college students giving speeches against the republic.”

“I don’t give speeches against the republic,” Les protested. “I give speeches against the way we run it.”

“Same difference, ain’t it?”

“No!” Les exclaimed in mock distress. “You’d think an artist of all people would understand the horrors of damaged expansion from a solid foundation.”

“Well,” Esther interrupted, cutting off a speech they had all heard a thousand times. “We all know how your father feels about your views, sweetheart, so take off that mess you call a coat and quiet down about the politics, alright?”

“Alright, Ma,” Les conceded, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. He looked over at Kath at the table. “Where’re the twins? I would’ve thought they’d come barreling in by now.”

“I have no idea,” Kath replied, not glancing up from the sketchbook. Sarah lightly smacked the back of her head. “What was that for?” She asked, looking up at her wife. Sarah crossed her arms. “Aw, Saz, c’mon. Your father’s watching them, they’re fine.” Sarah huffed, deeming the argument unworthy and retreating back to the dining room to finish setting the table. Les shook his eyes.

“I’ll go find the little monsters,” he said, shrugging off the coat and tossing it over a chair.

“They’re not monsters!” Sarah called.

“Yes, they are!” Kath called back. The rest of the room burst into laughter as Sarah groaned audibly.

“Les, don’t put that on the chair, I don’t want my furniture contaminated,” Esther said, turning back to the stove. Les rolled his eyes and picked up the coat, leaving the room to find the coat rack. He paused as he hung it up, letting out a deep breath. “You can do this,” he told himself. “It’s not going to be a big deal.”

It was definitely going to be a big deal. He drew in a sharp breath, straightening his back and shaking his head.

“What’s not a big deal?” Someone asked, and Les spun around.

“Ah, monsters!” he exclaimed, kneeling down he’d be eye to eye with them. “I was just going to come looking for you!”

Ricky and Rosie giggled as he held his arms out, bringing them in for a hug. Clearly, Sarah and Kath (probably just Sarah, actually) had tried to make them presentable, but their round cheeks were flushed and their hair was wild. Rosie had, as always, steadfastly refused to wear a dress, so they were dressed alike in trousers and polo shirts. (Les was extremely unsure why his sister had put them in polo shirts. To him, it was worse than the coat.) “We’re not monsters,” Ricky grumbled, and Rosie snorted the way Kath did when she was amused.

“Yes, we are,” she contradicted, and Les couldn’t help from laughing again.

“Les!” Esther called from the kitchen. “I need you to come help Sarah, she can’t find the crystal!”

“I’ve got Ricky and Rosie!” Les called back. There was a pause.

“Never mind!” Esther and Kath replied in unison, and laughter rolled through the house again. Yes, Thanksgiving at the Jacobs’ was a cheerful time.

“It’s almost time for dinner, I think,” Les told them, and Ricky made a face.

“Why’d you get here so late? You’re always here before us.”

“This is only the second year I haven’t lived here, Ricky,” Les reminded him, and Ricky nodded solemnly.

“You’re an adult.” Ricky sounded as though the thought were abhorrent.

“Unfortunately,” Les agreed and began herding them into the kitchen.

“Unfortunately what?” Kath asked, looking up as they came in. Rosie giggled, scrambling into a chair next to her mother.

“He’s an adult,” Ricky stated matter-of-factly, crossing his arms and glaring at Les like he’d committed some kind of crime. Les shrugged.

“Well, what can you do, kid,” he replied, ruffling his nephew’s hair. Kath snorted, shaking her head and flipping a page in the sketchbook. Les watched in amusement as Ricky sat down on the floor next to Jack, grabbing ahold of his pants leg. “The food almost done, Jackie boy?”

“Not for you if you call me that again,” Jack retorted. “Ma went to go help Sarah, I think.”

“I don’t understand how they lost the crystal,” Les commented with a laugh. “It’s always in the exact same spot, ain’t it?” Jack shrugged.

“Maybe Sarah’s eyesight is going.”

“She is old,” Les said solemnly, nodding. Ricky and Rosie gave stately nods of agreement, and Kath glared at them.

“Monsters, I don’t think your mom wants you to agree with me,” Les said with a grin. Kath gave him a look.

“Les,” she said, sounding long-suffering, “I never want to see the day my children end up like you.”

“What?” Les exclaimed in mock offence. “How come? Don’t you know I’m perfect, Katie?”

“It appears to have slipped my notice,” she responded drily, and he joined in the laughter. He tilted his head back to look at Davey.

“Hey, Dave,” he greeted. “I don’t think I’ve got a hug yet.”

“I couldn’t hug you while you were wearing that coat,” Davey teased with a grin. “I might get ill.” Les shrugged, standing so that Dave could pull him in for a second. He clapped a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.

“Greetings, favourite brother in law,” he said, and Jack gasped dramatically, stumbling away from the counter and grasping his heart. “How’ve you been?”

“Wonderful,” Charlie replied with a grin. “Except I think my husband might be dying of a heart attack behind you.” Les turned with a deadpan expression, surveying Jack’s dramatic display.

“Hm,” was his only remark, and he turned back around. “How’s work?”

“It’s been great, actually!” Charlie began in excitement and set off rambling about everything he was doing. Les nodded earnestly, pretending to listen as he picked Rosie up off the chair and set her on the floor so he could sit down. The medical jargon was absolutely baffling, so he gave up even attempting to understand and instead just nodded at the right spots. He was an excellent actor. (Sarah called it “lying.” He called it pride.)

“How’s college?” Charlie asked as he finished. Les felt his heart drop, and by some miracle managed to maintain his grin, giving no trace of discomfort.

“Well, actually-” he began but was interrupted by his mother’s entrance. She was laughing to herself, shaking her head back and forth.

“The crystal was in the exact same spot it’s been for thirty years,” she said. “Sarah’s eyesight must be going.” They were all, thankfully, distracted by that, and Les blew out a long breath. Davey caught his eye.

“Are you okay?” His brother mouthed, a concerned frown creasing his face. Les sent him back a grin and nodded.

“Is the food done, Jack?” Esther asked, and Jack gave an enthusiastic affirmation, which resulted in a squeal from Ricky and Rosie, who were arm wrestling on the floor. Sarah came rushing in and groaned loudly when she saw them.

“Ricky, Rosie, get up,” she said, and they giggled, scrambling to their feet. “For Pete’s sake, Kath, were you paying any attention?” Kath looked up with wide, innocent eyes.

“Of course!” She responded as if offended. “When have you know me not to pay attention?”

“I’d give you the list, dear, but I’d prefer to eat dinner before tomorrow,” Sarah responded drily. “Go wash your hands, sweethearts,” she said to Ricky and Rosie, who nodded and ran out of the room. “Les,” Sarah said, straightening up, “Go check they’re actually washing their hands. And see if you can find Anna for me?”

“No problem, Saz,” Les told her with a grin. He made his way to the bathroom on the first floor, peeking his head inside. To no surprise, the twins were not, in fact, inside. “Ricky? Rosie?” he called, continuing down the hallway. The sound of giggling came from a room- Les’ old room? He frowned, pushing open the door. The twins were sitting on the floor with a picture frame in their hands.

“Hey, monsters,” Les said, leaning against the doorframe. There was something cold rising in his throat, and he fought to keep a smile on his face. There weren’t many pictures he’d left behind when he’d left for Yale. The twins looked up, identical grins on their faces.

“Who’re they, Uncle Les?” Ricky asked, holding out the picture. Les came into the room, squatting down across from them and holding out his hand.

“May I?” He asked, and Ricky handed it to him. Two pairs of eyes watched him expectantly as he turned his gaze down to the frame.

In the picture, they were with the beat-up silver Stingray that Isaac was so proud of. Isaac must have been the one taking the picture since he wasn’t in it- just Landon, sitting cross-legged on the ground, with a water bottle in his hand that Les would bet had the furthest thing from water inside, and Les himself on the hood, in the middle of laughing, with an arm flung around Everett next to him. Everett’s gaze wasn’t on the camera, but on Les, with that adoring, wide-eyed puppy look he wore so well. _The look that made you trust him_ , Les reflected bitterly. He blew a long breath out his nose and looked back at the kids. He could feel how fake his grin was; he prayed they were blind to it.

“Just some old friends,” he told them. “From high school.”

“Two years isn’t that old,” Rosie commented, wrinkling her nose. “Anna’s tiny.”

Les forced a laugh. He was good at that. “Indeed she is,” he agreed. “But time passes differently away from home.” He stands, crossing the dresser and setting the picture down. He takes a moment longer to stare at it and then turns around with his grin painted back on. “Now, monsters,” he said in a mock-scolding tone. “I thought your mother told you to wash your hands.”

Luckily, by the time they’ve all sat down, the kids have been distracted by the food on the table, and Les was spared from any lingering questions. He didn’t know if he could take questions about Everett right now. Food was shovelled onto plates and into mouths, the chatter refusing to die down even as the feast diminished. Not that diminish was really the right word- the dishes seemed never-ending. It was impossible to finish a Thanksgiving meal cooked by Esther Jacobs and Jack Kelly. The family had been toiling to for years. Even when the five new additions became old enough to eat a proper amount, there were leftovers for weeks afterwards.

Les was beginning to think he’d make it through. Perhaps he could wait until Hannukah to tell them? Surely that would be better, anyway. But alas- the dreaded question came. Unfortunately, it came as he took a sip of wine, and he had to force himself not to choke or give any indication of distress.

“So,” Mayer began. “How’s Yale treating you, son?”

Les forced another smile on his face. “Well, it’s Yale,” he said with a laugh. “We didn’t call my acceptance letter a miracle for nothing.” (He’s lucky Landon paid so much shit off his record. He’d never have gotten in if they knew what a mess he was.)

“That’s true!” Esther chimed in, laughing. “I remember you crying over it.”

“You cried?” Ricky asked, his face wrinkling. Les shrugged.

“I’m weird about being happy.” (Probably because he never is. And because he’s finally come to terms with those tears not being entirely happy, anyway.)

“So you cried?” This is an odd concept for the seven-year-old, who remained confused, even as his mother shushed him.

“What classes are you taking next semester?” Mayer asked, carefully slicing his turkey. Les paused, taking a sip of wine.

“Well,” he began, and then stopped because his chest felt tight and was beginning to close with dread. Breathing felt forced. He cleared his throat and took another sip. The table was watching him, eyes boring into his anxious frame. Davey’s face was wrinkled with concern.

“Are you alright, Les?” His brother asked, and Les flashed him a quick grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He took a deep breath. “You were asking about my classes, Pa?”

“Yep,” Mayer answered, and he sounded wary. “Which ones you taking next semester, boy?”

The question hangs in the air for a just a second longer before Les violently kicks the anxiety down. _Fuck it._

“Well, I’m not,” he responded, leaning back in his chair. Mayer didn’t know how to respond, his face morphing to confusion.

“What’s that mean, Les?” Esther asked, her tone carefully kind. Les looked over at her. He can see the realization come onto Charlie’s face out of the corner of his eye and how he leaned over to whisper in Davey’s ear.

“I’m not taking any classes next semester,” Les continued. “I’m leaving Yale.”

“You’re dropping out?” Mayer asked, his voice suddenly hard. Les drew in a deep breath before turning his gaze back to his father, who’s fingers had begun tightening around his silverware.

“Yeah, Pa,” he said simply. He watched his father’s face turn red, and Esther’s voice turns shrill.

“Why?” He was hoping to avoid this. There was no way they would understand, not with their beliefs on education and how life depended on it. And certainly not after his siblings’ success through their degrees.

“I don’t think I need it-”

“You don’t think you need it!” Mayer echoed in a booming voice and came to his feet, his chair scraping along the floor. Les instinctively flinched. Little Anna in Sarah’s lap looked petrified. “You’re a student at Yale University! You’re on track to become a lawyer! You’ve paid thousands of dollars and put in thousands of hours, and now you’re saying you don’t need it?” Every word was spit with angry, bruising intent, and Les took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Pa-”

“That’s not your decision!” Mayer continued. “You’re not even twenty yet! You have no idea how the world works, and here you are looking at a degree from Yale University, saying you don’t need it! Is that what you think? Are you really that immature? Just because you don’t want to put in the work-”

Les was on his feet too, then, because that wasn’t an accusation he could stand for. “This has nothing to do with work!” He yelled back, cutting his father’s rant off. “Are you actually telling me what to believe? Are you really standing here telling me that I don’t understand my own intentions in life? I know what I need, Pa-”

“Obviously you don’t!” He’s never been yelled at like this before. This is the kind of fight he dreaded through his senior year- he deserved it then, though. He shouldn’t have gotten away with that shit just to be screamed at for this. “You’re throwing your life away! You talk about intentions in life, but you’re tossing it down the drain! If this is your views on things, you’re more of a bohemian than I thought-”

“What the hell is wrong with bohemian? Does that mean barbarian to you? And what does that have to do with this, anyway? Me giving up a Yale degree has nothing to do with being _bohemian_ -”

“There!” His father spat, pointing a finger at him. “There, you said it! You’re giving it up! Just like you give up everything else in your life! Just like you gave up on your driver’s license after you failed the test! Just like you gave up on fixing your SAT score because it was ‘good enough’ and you didn’t want to put in the goddamn work! Just like you gave up Boy Scouts because it was too much commitment- every time! Every time you have a chance to get something solid, you give it up! Even with _Everett_ -”

“This has nothing to do with Everett!” Les screamed back, and that was the snapping point. “You have no idea what happened with Everett and me! You have no idea what I was going through then! You never bothered to ask! Some days I wonder if you know anything about me at all, except you know I’m not Sarah, and you know I’m not Davey, and that’s enough for you to make judgements on! It’s not your place to yell at me about Everett! It’s not your place to yell about my driver’s test! It’s not your _place_ to yell at me about my fucking grades in high school! High school is over! High school is in the past, and after Christmas break, Yale will be too! It’s not your place to decide whether I go there! I don’t want to! I don’t fucking need to, and I’m not fucking going to! Maybe you don’t know your place, Pa, but I know mine, and it’s not at that school!”

Silence rang through the room. He and his father kept their eyes locked on each other, and Les could feel his breath shuddering in and out of him. He’d only yelled like that once before. The only difference?

He didn’t regret it this time.

Not even later, after he’d stormed away and nearly gotten a ticket for speeding. Not even once he was on the couch in his apartment, drinking a shitty beer because his heart was still beating too hard and he needed something stronger than the wine from dinner.

He leaned his head back and let out a long breath. He hated being angry. Especially at family. He closed his eyes and hummed softly, trying to expel the bitterness from his bones. It wasn’t worth staying awake anymore.


	2. chapter ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> les talks to his friends idk  
> ya meet ten pin and tumbler and theyre gay so like thats cool ig  
> it all takes place at like 5 in the morning bc that's what time it is rn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im deadass hitting the post button at 4:20 in the morning  
> living my best life

Les awoke with a cramp in his neck and a pounding on his door. He groaned, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He glanced out the window. The sky was still dark, and he wrinkled his nose. The incessant knocking was getting louder and more urgent. “Hold ya horses, I’m comin’!” He shouted. He winced at his blatant accent. It always came back full force when he was tired.

(Everett had found it adorable.)

Les stumbled to the door, pulling it open with a groan. “Who- oh.” He glowered. “What the hell, Tenny?”

Noah Wilder wrinkled his nose. “Haven’t called me that in a while, Jacobs,” he commented. “Here I thought my Ten Pin days were behind me.”

“Ten Pin never dies, my brother,” Les declared, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “But what the hell ya doin’ here?”

Noah grinned. “Your accent is back,” he singsonged. Les glowered.

“Aw, shut up,” he muttered, shoving his friend’s shoulder. Noah laughed loudly, and Les winced. The next apartment over was temperamental at best.

“You gonna let me in, pretty boy?” Noah asked, and Les wrinkled his nose, stepping aside so that Noah could come in.

“Don’ call me that.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, pretty boy-” Noah started, but Les cut him off.

“Don’,” he snarled, slamming the door, and Noah blinked, taken aback.

“Oh.” They stood in silence for a second. “Sorry.”

Les shook his head. “Nah. Sorry for yellin’.” He paused. “Ev,” he added, and Noah winced.

“I didn’t remember. Sorry, man.” He shook his head. “But, uh-” he cleared his throat like it would clear old memories from the air. “Anyway, I came here for a reason.”

“It betta be a damn good one at-” Les glanced at the clock, “-four thirty in the morning? Why the hell ya up so early, Noah?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” the blond replied flippantly. “But anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“‘Kay, shoot,” Les said, crossing to the coffee maker. “What is it?”

Noah paused. “God, it’s so weird hearing you talk like that,” he marvelled, but quickly continued at a warning look from Les. “It’s about Marc.” He stopped and took a breath. “This is real out of nowhere, I know, and I know it’s four thirty and you’re probably tired from dinner last night-” Les winced slightly. “-but I haven’t been able to sleep for days- not that I can sleep normally- but my stomach keeps flipping when I think about it and it’s driving me insane and-”

“Noah,” Les interrupted, taking a sip of his coffee. “Calm down.” Noah nodded, blowing out a breath. “You was talkin’ ‘bout Marc?”

“Right.” Noah swallowed, squaring his shoulders. “I wanna marry him.”

Les choked. “What?”

“I know we’re, like, super young and shit-”

“Yeah, no kiddin’!” Les leaned back against the counter. “I mean, I dunno why ya coming ta me fo’ this-”

“You’re my best friend,” Noah replied. “And- and I don’t know, I’m just not sure if it’s a good idea or not.”

“I ain’t exactly an expert on relationship advice,” Les began drily, and Noah winced. “But we ain’t goin’ down that road right now.” He took another sip of coffee. “Do ya have money for a ring?”

“I’ve been saving.”

Les smirked. “A’course ya have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Noah frowned. “Am I obvious about it?”

“Nah. I don’ think there’d be a problem if ya were, though. Ya got any idea how he feels about it?”

“What’d you mean by ‘of course you have’?”

“Christ, Noah, I don’ know,” Les snapped, and Noah recoiled. “Sorry. I jus’- I had a long night.”

“What happened?” Noah asked, immediately concerned. Les sighed, taking his last sip of coffee.

“Tol’ my parents ‘bout Yale,” he explained. “Pa wasn’t exactly thrilled.” Noah winced in sympathy. “Yelled at me ‘bout responsibility and throwin’ my life away an’ all that. Even brought up Ev.”

Noah was silent for a second. “You know, Les,” he began gently. “It is time you talked about Ev.”

Les shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. His accent was starting to fade as his senses brightened, thank god. “It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, and you’re still miserable over it,” Noah pointed out. “Oh, don’t deny it,” he snorted as Les opened his mouth. “It destroyed you, Les, we both know it.”

Les shrugged. “Gotta live with it,” he replied, brushing it off easily. “But ya ain’t here to talk about Ev anyway.”

Noah sighed. “Marc.”

“Marc,” Les echoed.

“What about Marc?” Someone asked. Both of them jumped, and Noah turned his head to the doorway so fast that Les winced in sympathy for him.

“Babe!” Noah exclaimed. The man of the hour was in the doorway, still in pajama pants and an NYC sweatshirt. Les frowned.

“How the hell didja get in?” He asked. Marc silently held up a spare key.

“You gave it to me six months ago,” he said, then focused his attention on Noah. “Hey, baby,” he greeted, coming in and leaning over to kiss Noah’s head. “Woke up cold. Figured you’d be here.”

Les wrinkled his nose at the interaction, pouring another cup of coffee. “Mornin’, Marc,” he said, his voice dry. “Nice ta see ya.”

Marc grinned. “Nice to hear your accent again, Jacobs,” he teased, and Les shot him a glare.

“Shuddup,” he growled. Marc shrugged, still grinning, and gestured to Les’ coffee. “Pour me a cup?”

Les glared at him for a couple more seconds before letting it drop. “Sure.”

“So why were you two talking about me?” Marc asked. A look of panic crossed Noah’s face.

“W-we uh- we was just- we were-”

“It was nothin’,” Les interrupted smoothly. “Quit trippin’ over yourself, Noah, you sound like a broken record on steroids.” Noah glared at him, but shut his mouth. “Don’t worry about it, Marc,” he reassured. “Wasn’t nothin’ bad.”

Marc frowned. “Fine.” He took a sip of his coffee and pulled out a chair, sitting down. “What time is it, anyway?”

Les glanced at a clock. “Four fifty.” Marc gave Noah a look.

“You’ve stopped sleeping again?” He asked. Noah shrugged.

“It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

“Baby, it’s your health,” Marc said gently. “Of course I’m going to worry. I’m going to worry until it's fixed, or I break my fucking mind, whichever happens first.”

Noah frowned. “I’m fine, Marc, really.”

“You only stop sleeping when you’re anxious about something,” Marc told him, eyebrows creasing together. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Noah paused. “It’s nothing.”

“Like hell I’ll believe that.”

Les’ lips tightened into a line, and he set his coffee down quietly, slipping out of the room. He picked his phone up off the table next to his couch and turned it on, wincing at the neon light. He had a missed call from a number he didn’t know. (It seemed oddly familiar, though, like it was tugging at a memory deep inside his mess of a mind, like a piece of the jigsaw puzzle in his brain that had forgotten where exactly it fit in.) He frowned.

(He didn’t expect them to pick up.)

“Hey,” the person on the other line greeted. “Les?”

“Uh,” Les replied, in the spectacularly intelligent fashion he was known for. “I- who is this?”

There was a pause. “Am I not in your phone, lover boy?” They asked, their voice amused. Les straightened. _Shit._

“I think I deleted your contact after you got me arrested,” he snapped.

“I didn’t get you arrested, lover boy, you did it yourself. And we’re damn lucky Landon paid it off our records, huh? Lucky for Landon.”

“What do you want, Isaac?” Les asked, suddenly feeling tired. “We haven’t spoken since graduation.”

“True, true! Brilliant as always, I see. Wanna come over for a drink?”

Les blinked. “It’s five in the morning.” (Also I don’t know you anymore and I have no idea where you live and I’m so fucking tired, but somehow none of that seems to matter right now)

“Time is fake,” Isaac replied dismissively, and Les could picture him waving his hand in the air. “What do you think of it, lover boy?”

Somehow, Les found himself agreeing.

-

It was stupid leaving the apartment without telling Noah and Marc. It was stupid hailing a cab to the address Isaac gave him. It was stupid to forget a coat. This was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. (He was always stupid around Isaac.)

But somehow, he couldn’t really care all that much how stupid it was when the door to this hole in the wall apartment swung open, and Isaac was there with a grin on his face, offering out an arm. “Mornin’, lover boy,” he greeted with a teasing grin, and Les couldn’t help but grin back, letting his old friend pull him in for a quick hug.

“Morning,” he replied. “Let me in?”

Isaac stepped aside, and Les brushed past, looking around. “This is your place, huh?”

“Yep. Got back about… a month ago now, I guess. It’s taken us a bit to get back on our feet.”

“Back from where?” Les asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he turned around. Isaac closed the door.

“France. Landon’s grandfather died.”

“Thought he hated his grandfather.”

A smile twitched onto Isaac’s face. “Didn’t hate the money he left him.”

Les shouldn’t have laughed. “You got a tattoo,” he pointed out, gesturing to Isaac’s arm. There were words inked into his skin just below his elbow. (Probably to hide the puncture wounds. Thank god Les never did anything to give himself those.)

(It had been tempting.)

Isaac offered out his arm so that Les could see the words better. Les snorted.

“ _Carpe diem_? Bit cheesy for you, isn’t it?”

Isaac shrugged. “It’s a tattoo. It don’t have to mean anything to anyone but me.”

Les paused. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He grinned. “You got that drink you promised?”

“Well, I don’t remember no promise, but yeah, I’ll get you a drink,” Isaac replied, smirking. “Oh yeah, and keep your voice a tad low, yeah?” He added as he crossed to the hutch, taking out a bottle of gin. “Landon’s asleep still.” Les nodded, accepting the glass he was offered.

“You two doing well, then?” He asked. The two of them relaxed onto the couch. Isaac set the bottle on the table, in easy reach, and nodded.

“Better than ever,” he replied. “You found anyone since Everett?”

Les sighed. “Not yet. Not planning on it, either.” Isaac gave him an odd look. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Les frowned, but let it go. “How was France?” Isaac’s face lit up, and he launched into a verbal reenactment of his time outside Paris, in the Meyer’s family mansion that Les had seen pictures of. It was weird to imagine Mush growing up in the lavish structure those pictures had depicted. He had always just been the kid upstairs that woke up too early, living in a dingy, hole in the wall apartment just like the rest of them. It was easier to picture Landon, though. He’d never seemed quite settled into New York City, never fully adopted their little pocket of subculture. But living in a mansion in France, getting wasted off expensive liquor and paying money to erase mistakes? Yeah, that seemed like Landon. Even growing up, he seemed distant, almost disconnected from this place. Sure, he laughed and talked and drank with the best of ‘em, but he never maintained the same passion for simply being alive that Les had taken as gospel. Landon hadn’t seemed passionate about anything, really, not until he met Isaac. Their relationship had mellowed Isaac out the tiniest bit (Not much, really, but Landon hated the punctures on his arm, and Isaac went to hell and back to stop putting them there so that Landon would stop looking at him like that. Les had spent ages over at Isaac’s house with him, holding him as he thrashed at two in the morning, with tears and stuttering words and a raging fever.)

(He knew much more about Isaac from those nights, and he wasn’t sure if Isaac knew that he knew it.)

Their relationship had mellowed Isaac out the tiniest bit, but it had ignited a fire in Landon, ignited a passion Les had never seen. It had made him care about something for the first time Les remembered. Even Michael had thought they were good together, and Michael hated the Mays.

“How’s about you, lover boy?” Isaac asked, his talk of France dying away. “How’s you been?”

Les looked down at his drink and took a sip, pondering how to answer the question. “I mean,” he began, “I applied for a job recently, this dinner theatre downtown that needed help, and I’m fairly certain that I’ve got it, so that’s good.”

“How the hell you gonna have a full time job in New York? Ain’t you’s at Yale?”

Les shrugged. “Dropped out.”

“Oh.” Isaac looked like he didn’t know what to say. “Wouldn’t have expected it from you.”

“Yeah, I know, right? But I didn’t want to do law anymore, and I didn’t see much of a point in anything else, so instead I’m just gonna get a job and move on to better things.” It was so fucking stifling at that school; he’d been suffocating for creativity, starving for a way to express parts of himself beyond just the left-side of his brain. Isaac nodded. “You didn’t end up going to school, did you?”

“Nah.” He leaned back. “Lanny and I figured we’d just find something to do and make it work, but recently-” he glanced at the closed bedroom door and lowered his voice. “Recently it’s seemed less than ideal.”

“Then what’s the ideal?” Les asked, pouring himself another glass.

“I don’t know. I’d like to move, I think, get out of New York City.” He sighed. “What I’d really like is to go back to France. Get an apartment there. Get a dog.”

“Settling down?” It’s weird to picture wild, rough Isaac living a domestic life in France, but somehow so fitting. Maybe just picturing him with Landon makes it make sense. Landon makes Isaac make sense.

“Yeah.” Isaac paused. “I just don’t know how to bring it up. We’re still so young, you know? What if he doesn’t want to settle down with me?”

Les doesn’t know how to answer, because he’s never had someone love him like that, the way Isaac and Landon love each other. The way Isaac looks at Landon, like he hung the stars in the sky, and the way Landon’s bitter voice softens, his cold eyes melt, just from Isaac reaching out to hold his hand.

(That’s the way Everett looked at him when he thought Les wasn’t looking, but why the hell would he hide it if it was real?)

“Hey, Les?” Isaac is looking down his drink. Les looked over at him.

“What is it?”

“You’s still in contact with Marc, ain’t you?”

Isaac and Marc hadn’t gotten along as foster brothers, when Marc came to the Mays as a self-confident, self-absorbed mess of repressed trauma that called himself Tumbler, of all things. They’d gotten along worse as ~~Andrew and Dani started caring more about Marc than Isaac~~ Marc became more ingrained in Isaac’s life. They’d gotten along the worst when Marc was finally adopted, and Isaac had to look him in the eyes and call him his brother.

“Yeah, he’s at my apartment with Noah right now,” Les replied. “Why do you ask?”

Isaac sighed. “They’s still together, right?”

“Yeah, I think they’re thinking about getting married.” Or at least, he knew that Noah was.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Isaac is silent for a second. “I wish I could see him again,” he muttered. “I wanna apologize for my shit in high school.”

“He’s your brother, ain’t he? You’ll see him,” Les responded, and Isaac laughed drily.

“I’ve basically exiled myself from any kinda family I had here, lover boy. Andy and Dani never talked to me before, and they sure as hell ain’t gonna talk to me now. Dani ain’t even staying in New York- he’ll be moving to Holland come April.”

“Well, they don’t call him Dutchy for nothing,” Les said, because he didn’t know how else to reply. Luckily, it makes Isaac laugh, a real laugh this time.

“For sure, lover boy, for sure.”

It wasn’t long after that Les left, but they made plans for coffee in a couple days, and Isaac stopped him before he walked out the door, gave him a hug and a kind, “I missed you, Les,” that he can’t help but return.

In the cab on his way back to Lower East Side, he checked his phone. He had four missed calls from Noah.

“Jesus Christ, finally,” was the first thing Noah said when he picked up, and Les started laughing. “Where you been, boy? Marc and I have been worried.”

“I was just over at a friend’s,” Les replied. “I’m in a cab, I’ll be there in just a second.”

“How the hell’d you get a cab at six thirty in the morning? You some kind of miracle worker, Jacobs?”

“Something like that.”

The moment he opened his apartment door, Noah pulled him in for a hug. “Christ, Les, don’t just up and vanish like that-” he paused. “Why the hell you smell like gin?”

“Why the hell you think?” Les asked drily, and the other two glanced at each other, like they were deliberating.

“Why were you drinking at six in the morning?” Marc asked. Les thought about lying, but he took one look at his friends’ faces and thought, _fuck it._

“It wasn’t much, don’t worry.” He goes to the fridge and pulls it open. There’s leftover takeout inside. “I went over to Isaac’s.”

“Isaac?” Marc asked, something bitter tainting his voice. “You mean my brother Isaac?”

“Yeah,” Les replied, getting a fork. “There a problem with that?”

“Les,” Marc began, but he stopped and looked at his boyfriend. Noah sighed and sat down.

“Thought you were done being friends with Isaac.”

“So did I,” Les told him, shrugging. “But things happen, you know?”

“He’s already got you drinking again,” Noah pointed out. “What if that other shit comes back too? I don’t want to see you fall apart like that again, Les.”

“I’m not going to fall apart,” Les snapped. “It was a couple drinks, that was all. And I never stopped drinking, anyway.”

“It was just a couple drinks before, too,” Marc snapped back, stepping in. “Remember? Back when you ditched us to go get _just a couple drinks_ with Isaac and Landon?”

“What the hell is wrong with getting drinks with Isaac and Landon?”

“They got you on drugs.”

Les tightened his lips into a line. “It’s none of your business what they got me on, Marc. It was nothing bad.”

“Really?” Marc stepped closer. “Why ain’t you ever wearing short sleeves, Les? Even when it’s boiling like Doomsday, you stick inside and wear long sleeves. Why is that? What’ve you got to hide?”

He didn’t have those puncture scars on his arms like Isaac did.Was that what Marc meant?

“I never did any fucking heroin, Marc.” His voice sounded tired, even to him. “It’s too early for this shit.”

“Les, please-” Noah started, but something in Les’ expression must have tipped him off that it was hopeless, and he broke off with a sigh. “Marc and I are going to go back to bed,” he said instead, and Les nodded distantly. He knows how to be detached. He learned from Landon.

He went to sleep on the couch again, because the day was already shit and the clock hadn’t even hit seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment and shit?? idk ily all


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shit happens in boston and les spends time with his friends: hella short format
> 
> cool beans

-Boston, Massachusetts // 8.45 AM-

Jamie woke up in Brian’s bed.

Which… wasn’t new. But still strange.

Jamie woke up in Brian’s bed with arms around him, holding him like something that mattered.

Which was newer, but not entirely unexpected.

Jamie woke up in Brian’s bed with arms around him in a way that made him feel wanted and he woke up with a missed call from Albert.

That was pretty fucking new.

He pressed the callback button, and closed his eyes as he listened to the dial tone. Brian’s legs sleepily wrapped around his, and Jamie smiled down at his… friend? Honestly, he wasn’t sure what they were at these point. Friends wasn’t quite right, as evidenced by their current state, but-

“James?”

“Hey, Al,” Jamie replied, snapping out of his thoughts. His brother was the only one that used his full name. “What’s up?”

“Not much.” Jamie could hear people in the background. “What’re you up to?”

“You mean, like, right now?”

“No, two weeks ago,” Albert said sarcastically. “Yeah, right now.”

“Oh, I’m in bed,” he responded, choosing to ignore the snark. His big brother was known for being sweet, but those people hadn’t grown up with him. Jamie had had to share a room with the dick until he was fourteen.

“Jamie?” Brian mumbled, and Jamie froze.

“Oh, I see,” Albert replied, with an amusement in his voice that made it obvious he’d heard. Jamie cursed quietly. “What’s wrong, kiddo?” He teased.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered. Brian frowned, opening one eye. _Not you,_ Jamie mouthed, and the older boy smiled, closing his eyes again and curling into Jamie’s side. “Why’re you asking what I’m up to?”

“Oh, right! Some friends and I are out to breakfast. Thought you might want to join us.” Albert paused. “You can bring your boyfriend, too.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Jamie exclaimed, and he heard Brian start laughing quietly next to him.

“Yeah, sure,” Albert said, obviously amused. “See ya, kiddo.”

“Fucking Albert,” Jamie muttered. Brian reached over and tugged his phone out of his hand, tossing it across the room. Jamie winced as he heard it hit the floor. “I swear to god if you broke it-”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Brian interrupted smoothly. He leaned in and kissed him, running his hand through Jamie’s hair. “Are we gonna go to breakfast?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jamie muttered, still grumpy. “He didn’t exactly let me say no.”

“Does he ever?”

Albert didn’t tell them who would be there.

-

Les called Noah eight times before he answered, and as soon as the call was received, proceeded to shout so loudly that his neighbor hit the wall and yelled at him to shut up.

“I got it!”

“Jesus, you don’t need to blow my eardrums out. What’d you get?”

“The job!” Les exclaimed quieter. “I got it! You remember Morris Delancey? Graduated a couple years ahead of us? Probably not, I knew them through parties, but anyway! Turns out they put in a good word for me, so the boss decided she’d give me a chance!”

“That’s awesome!” Noah screeched. Les heard Marc curse in the background.

“Who needs college when you got a theatre?”

“Yale didn’t deserve you anyway,” Noah replied flippantly, and Les burst out laughing.

“Anyway, just wanted to let you know. I start on Saturday, so exciting things are afoot.”

“Thank god for Morris Delancey,” Noah said, then paused. “Never thought I’d be thanking God for the Delanceys.”

“Shit happens,” Les sympathized. Noah laughed.

“I got work so I gotta hang up, but I’m proud of you, man. All you need now is a boyfriend.”

“Haha, very funny. Fuck off, Tenny.”

“Seeya later, Jacobs!” Noah exclaimed, and then hung up. Les grinned, sticking his phone his pocket and grabbing his keys. He was going to be late to coffee with Isaac if he didn’t hurry. He grabbed one show off the kitchen counter and glanced around for the other, which was- not in the kitchen. Huh.

“Dammit,” he muttered, and started searching the living room.

It took fifteen minutes to find his shoe (it was a different color, though (and it was in the fridge. He was such a goddamn mess.)) and another five to comb his hair back into some semblance of neatness. He grabbed his backpack, checked his laptop was inside, and slung it over his shoulder. He felt something nagging at him- what was he forgetting?

Wallet!

He grabbed it from the counter and zipped it into his backpack. “Cool beans!” he exclaimed sarcastically to the empty apartment. “This should be a fucking lit time.”

_God, I hate myself._

Catching a cab to the cafe, a little retro place on a corner, across from an office building and alongside a smoke shop, was easy. He got a booth in the corner and looked around at the place. It seemed nice enough.

“Scopin’ the joint?” Isaac asked, sliding in across from him at the booth. Les looked over and grinned, and then grinned even wider at the man that had accompanied Isaac for their meeting. His hair had grown out, curling at the base of his neck, and his blue eyes were just as cold and piercing as Les remembered. The bitterness that was reflected in his gaze was oddly comforting. Some things never changed, and Landon Meyers being a stone cold bitch was one of them. “Sit down, Lanny,” Isaac offered, and for a second Landon’s icy expression thawed to smile at his boyfriend; but immediately it froze again as he sat down.

“Hey, Landon,” Les greeted, and got a nod in return. “Hell yeah,” he said with a grin. “I got a nod.”

“You’ll get a black eye too if you don’t shut your smart-ass mouth,” Landon returned, but there was the familiar teasing bite to his tone that said he didn’t mean it. Isaac laughed.

“You’s ridiculous, you know that boys?” Isaac commented. Les shrugged.

“You love me,” Les singsonged, and Isaac glared at him.

“Sometimes. If you’re good.”

Les laughed, and Landon shook his head in that vaguely affectionate way he had that somehow dually communicated, _watch out, I’ll kill you in your sleep_. “You need to shut up, Isaac, you know that?” Landon remarked, and Isaac leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“Yeah, I know. You tell me all the time, baby.”

“Cause it’s true,” Landon muttered, but Les could see a light blush on his cheeks. He couldn’t help but feel a flash of something dark, something that tore through his heart for a jagged second and made his mouth taste bitter. He swallowed it down and ignored the sharp stinging that thudded beneath his breastbone.

It was easy to fall back into their old dynamic (Isaac and Les bantering over nothing and Landon staying quiet, watching them and adding snappy comments when he deemed fit), and they ended up back at Isaac and Landon’s apartment, the three of them sprawled on the couch together with reruns of Friends playing.

“You know,” Isaac began, “I really do hate this show.”

“What?” Les gasped, sitting up straight, and Isaac let his head fall back with a groan.

“Don’t make this a whole thing, Jacobs,” he warned. Les gaped at him.

“How can I not make this a whole thing? This is a whole thing. What the _hell_?”

“You’re such a white hippie, Les,” Landon commented.

“You’re such a privileged Democrat, Lanny,” Les snipped back.

“You’re a Democrat.”

“I’m independent.”

“What the fuck even is that?”

“I don’t really know, that’s just what I say instead of declaring myself anarchist,” Les replied, shrugging. Isaac burst out laughing, and Landon rolled his eyes.

“Eat some fucking bread, Les,” hes muttered, and Les grinned.

“You love me,” he singsonged. Landon rolled his eyes again, but said nothing. Isaac grabbed the remote.

“I’m turning off this trash,” he said, and Les hit the back of his head. “Ow! Fuck you, Jacobs!” Les and Landon both started laughing, and Les couldn’t help but grin at the way Landon’s cold facade splintered in amusement. It always made his heart feel like it was glowing, when he saw his best friends in moments like this, where they actually revealed what they were feeling. They were so damaged- all of them were, and seeing them happy was more than worth all the heartache they’d put each other through.  
Isaac’s phone buzzed with a call. He groaned, pushing Landon’s legs off his lap, and leaned forward picking it up. Les didn’t see the contact from his vantage, but whatever it was made Isaac stiffen, his forehead creasing. “I’m going to step outside for a minute,” was all he said, his words short and clipped, and Les and Landon both watched as he left, an odd tension in his shoulders.

-

“Why the hell are you calling me?”

“I need your help.”

“Of course you do."

-

Everett glanced back at the group. Jamie and Brian were muttering together, with Jamie throwing bitter glances in his direction. He glowered back, shoving his phone in his pocket, making the other boy roll his eyes. Elmer was still talking to Specs about whatever the hell. Surely he wouldn’t notice if Everett left? He’d just say he felt sick if anyone asked.

He kind of did feel sick, actually. Was Les really at Isaac’s apartment? He could have sworn they weren’t friends anymore.

“Things change, I guess,” he muttered, making his way out of the cafe. He hadn;t bought anything, in case of a swift exit. He had played the part of the unwanted guest far too many a time. His ring was cold against his chest, and he let out a long breath, reaching up to grab it.

He wanted to rip it off, but he couldn’t. Not yet. It had only been a year and a half; surely he deserved more time.

_”Take as much time as you want. Take forever. You’re a selfish monster anyway.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik ik its hella short im sorry babes i have bad writers block but i wanted to get something out before exams so here
> 
> ily i promise

**Author's Note:**

> not to sound like a vlogger but please comment  
> constructive criticism is gratefully accepted!!


End file.
